Eye Spy

After months of denial, I finally broke down and bought a pair of reading glasses.

I’ve always prided myself on having 20 / 20 vision. In hindsight, I probably should have used it for the good of man kind –working as fighter pilot or a sniper - careers that require excellent eyesight. Not to mention that I was often smug, pointing out to Tyler that his need for glasses certainly didn’t come from my side of the family.

But like most things in life, you don’t always know what you have until it’s gone. In my case, it happened over night….literally. It’s as if I woke up one morning and couldn’t read anything that was close to my face. At first I made all of the usual excuses – tried to blame it on fatigue and stress - anything but the fact that I’m getting older.

To add to my humiliation, I’ve discovered that reading glasses are made for people with small heads. Trust me on this. Imagine Mr. Potato head with a tiny pair of glasses and you get the general idea. I am feeling most attractive.

Snow Angels

Saturday morning we woke up to a beautiful white world – cause for great excitement in our little home. If you’re in the south or Midwest and reading this, you’re probably wondering why a Canadian would get excited about a little snow. Contrary to popular belief, Canada isn’t the great white north. In fact, the west coast enjoys a temperate climate – never too hot or never too cold. When we do get snow it stays in the mountains and rarely falls in the city.

My fascination with snow goes back to my childhood. Winter in West Texas can be bitterly cold, but it rarely snows. When it does snow, everything comes to a standstill – no school, no work – due to the fact that most sane and rational people are terrified to ever attempt driving in it.

Once my Dad was having trouble getting me and my two brothers out of bed, as a last resort he told us it had snowed. We shot out of bed like rockets, only to find it had all been a ruse. Granted it was in the middle of July – but we really wanted to believe. Guess we weren’t exactly the sharpest knives in the drawer.

And who can forget the wonderful snow cream my Grandmother used to make – think ice cream but made with snow. The rule was you never made it with the first snow, as it cleaned the air of pollutants – so if it was a one snow winter, you were totally out of luck.

Even though the pugs and I are loving the snow, we’re really missing Tyler…..nobody loves playing in the snow like Tyler.

Mascot Fever

This evening Tom and I attended the launch of the 2010 Olympic Mascots, an experience that can only be described as surreal. I have to confess - in the beginning I wasn’t really sure how to feel about them – but went with an open mind and the realization that I don't exactly fall into the target market.

Suffice to say that before the evening was over, I was feeling the love. Perhaps it was their dance moves - Quatchi does a mean running man.

For some reason these mascots seemed strangely familiar – you know that feeling you get when you're certain you’ve met someone before - but you’re not exactly sure when or where. It wasn’t until we came home that it hit me, the 2010 Olympic mascots have pug faces!

Speaking of pugs, it’s been a rough week for my babies. Tex has been suffering from back pain, and this morning woke up with a toothache. He’s in the hospital this evening, recovering from dental surgery. It just feels so weird not having Tex home with us - and poor little Maggie is walking around looking for her little brother.

Maggie has been a very bad girl. My favorite TV program is Dexter, a show about a strangely lovable serial killer. The other evening Mags and I settled in to watch this week's episode. I went to the kitchen to get the two of us a snack, and left the remote on the couch....big mistake. Maggie sat on it, activated the parental control, and banned me from watching Dex. Unfortunately she isn’t sharing the code, naughty girl.

A Book Worth Reading

Listening is an Act of Love, a fabulous book that should be required reading.

The book is an offset of the StoryCorps Project, which begin with the idea that everyone has a story. Mobile recording booths travelled America, capturing the memories of people from all walks of life.

Stories of love, forgiveness, redemption, fortitude – defining moments that determine the course of one's life.

I come from a long line of story tellers, so this book reminded me of many a family dinner. Shortly before my grandmother died, I videotaped a conversation with her. Recollections of her life – how she met my grandfather while picking cotton – how sad she still felt about her sister Maddie’s death – the highs and lows of her life.

Most people no longer live close to their families, which might explain why so many of us feel the urge to blog. The need to connect and share the human experience.

Too Sexy

For those of you who have been following the news – People Magazine recently announced that Matt Damon is the “sexiest man alive”. Apparently he wasn’t too keen on the idea – he’s obviously pretty, and smart – realizing that his family and friends will be using this against him for years.

At my house it would go something like this - “You may be the sexiest man alive, but that doesn’t mean you can’t take out the garbage!”. Anyone who has a family knows where I’m coming from.

I personally think that the good folks at People Magazine got it wrong; looking like a movie star doesn’t necessarily make you sexy. In my opinion, intelligence is sexy– mimbos don’t do it for me. Sexy is funny, quirky, dangerous, and often comes with messy hair. And unlike many women, I don’t find men in uniforms sexy.

It’s a safe bet that I won’t be buying Tom a fireman costume anytime in the near future.

Facebook gone bad.

Recently I entered the world of Facebook, and so far it’s been a living hell.

It started innocently enough. A couple of weekends ago I was exploring social networks – trying to determine their relevance to my business world. In the name of market research, I signed up my unsuspecting husband onto Facebook.

Now, before you get all worked up about the implications of volunteering an unsuspecting partner, you should know that a few years ago Tom signed me up for Classmates.com. He thought it was a hoot until I started getting emails from old boyfriends. As they say; it’s all fun and games until somebody loses an eye.

In the beginning, Tom was resistant to the idea of being forced to go onto Facebook – actually, he was very resistant - kicking and screaming resistant. God forbid that he should tell the entire cyber-world that he likes 80’s tunes (remember Wham?) and long walks on the beach. My husband doesn’t have a lot of friends – so it didn’t help that one of his very first facebook “friends” was a cat named Phoebe. Tom hates cats.

So imagine my surprise when I realized, somewhere along the way, Tom had become a Facebook junkie. Like most things in life, it’s always the wife who is the last know.

I should have realized something was up when he shared P-kitty’s picks for the Cowboys - 49ers game – or when he asked me if his facebook photo made him look fat. Somehow it just didn’t clue in. I never realized we had a serious problem until my work colleagues started asking me about my leopard print pj’s – information that Tom felt was important enough to share with all of Greater Vancouver.

Not to mention that Tom’s new addiction has had a negative impact on our happy little family. Poor Tyler, it’s hard to flirt with girls or discuss your plans for the weekend when your dad is suddenly one of your most vocal facebook buddies. It even seems that in order for our pugs TexnMaggie to get Tom’s attention, they’re going to have to get their own fb account.

Yada yada yada!

I have a confession – I have a very low tolerance for talkers.

It’ not that I’m anti social, I value and enjoy a good conversation. What drives me crazy are people who talk incessantly –who talk over you –who talk while other people are talking - who don’t listen, as they’re too busy trying to figure out what to talk about next – who talk during movies - who produce an endless stream of mind numbing chatter.

Talkers fall into two camps.

The first group consists of people you know and love. Family and friends. With this group it’s all about management. This is where call display becomes your best friend.

The second group is made up of people you don’t know, and can’t escape from. The dental hygienist who talks about cross border shopping – the masseuse who talks about his recent and messy break-up – the person sitting in seat 14a, who is able to talk non-stop from Vancouver to London without taking a breath. Yada yada yada. They really exhaust me.

When confronted by a ‘Chatty Kathy”, my son Tyler cuts to the chase. He immediately explains that he doesn’t want to be rude and just wants to “veg”. Another good friend has a more passive aggressive approach. She thinks the solution is to carry an offensive book with you, and when confronted by a talker, just pull it out and start reading. She swears it’s guaranteed to shut anyone up.

I’m never sure what to do, and always worry about hurting other peoples feelings.